


Absolute Choices

by greenhawkeyes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), 俺の脳内選択肢が学園ラブコメを全力で邪魔している | NouCome - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover - of a sort, Humor, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Mild Language, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3080744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenhawkeyes/pseuds/greenhawkeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of New York, Clint Barton now lives with the Avengers in Stark Tower. Life has gone on but the foundation upon which Clint has based most of his life, is gone. Since that day, Clint has shouldered the heavy guilt of his actions. In particular, he misses the presence of his unflappable handler - Senior Agent Phil Coulson, K.I.A. while facing the mastermind of the Battle. Now, months later, the Norse God of Mischief, Loki has returned and he has something 'special' in store for Clint..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scifigrl47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/gifts).



> This is a special gift-fic for scifigrl47. A little late, since we promised it to her for Christmas in her Christmas Card Exchange. Partly because what was meant to be a 5000~ word fic has more than tripled in length.
> 
> There are few things to take note of:  
> a) There is some dub-con here. Nothing more than kissing. Mostly in the sense of 'magic made him do it!'  
> b) I have never been to New York. Or America. So if the streets/locations of places are off, ehehehe... I apologise beforehand.  
> c) This fic was partly inspired by the events that occurred in the anime NouCome.  
> d) I'm not American. So some slang/spelling might be off. I've done my best though!  
> e) This is the first time I've written a fic for the Marvel universe. XD

It had been over half a year now, since the Battle of New York and Clint still was not used to living in Stark Tower – now more commonly known as Avengers Tower. He stared at the ceiling, using the feel of the high-quality sheets anchor him to his location, letting the nightmare fade away. Even now, he half-expected to wake up and tumble out of his SHIELD-issued standard bunk. Certainly, the nightmares he had of that time had never stopped – not that he was alone in that. Blue-grey eyes flicked over to the windows where the bright lights of the New York skyline glittered against the winter-dark sky.He took in the sight of every single piece of furniture, watching the way they cast shadows throughout the room. There was no way he was going back to sleep now.

  
He threw the sheets back, grimacing at how they stuck to his skin. He almost missed the times when he was back at the barracks. Or even on missions. Because if he was there, Phi-Agent Coulson would at least be there, as his handler.

  
He made his way to the bathroom, after retrieving his bow from under his bed. It helped to have it with him after a nightmare – a comfort he had accepted as necessary. He washed his face, the first time in warm water to wash away the sweat, and a second time in cold, to wake him up. Then he changed into practice attire with a faint smirk; another benefit of staying at Stark’s – there were no time-outs on the practice range.

  
“The practice range please, JARVIS.” The archer called out as he walked into the elevator.

  
“Certainly, Agent Barton.” The crisp British accent of Stark’s A.I. butler answered calmly. “Might I suggest using the latest course Sir has designed?”

  
“Thanks, JARVIS.” He was careful to be polite to the entity that ruled Stark Tower. He might be a former circus boy but he had a good imagination on what could happen if he offended JARVIS. Particularly since JARVIS had refused to volunteer any services to Natasha shortly for after they had moved in.

  
Watching anything vaguely electronic refuse to work for his best friend was good fuel for that imagination. JARVIS could, and did, hold grudges for Tony’s sake. And the A.I. made it painful. Only after Natasha had apologized for breaking into Tony’s personal spaces to plant bugs and removed them, had JARVIS resumed treating her like any other tower resident.

  
“You’re welcome, Agent Barton.”

  
=for Scifigrl47=

  
Five hours later, covered in sweat from the convoluted obstacle course Stark had somehow set up for him, the nightmare had faded completely, the fear and horror he had felt having given away to satisfied exhaustion. He was certainly honing his skills. How Stark had managed to create the little ledges and blocks and stuff for him to snipe at moving targets in the most awkward positions was beyond him. Hell, he hadn’t known that he could bend that way and shoot! He was far from being as flexible as Nat.

  
He stepped out of the elevator and paused at the sight of Pepper Potts talking to Steve whilst the Captain fiddled with something on the stove, his big body and the countertop that separated the kitchen from the dining area blocking Clint’s line of sight. Both of them turned at the chiming of the elevator’s doors opening. “Morning.” He greeted carefully.

  
“Good morning, Clint.” And “Morning!” Were his replies from Pepper and Steve, respectively.

  
“Will sausage and eggs be okay?” Steve inquired, stirring the pot full of… eggs, Clint guessed as he took a few steps closer. “Have you been at the range?” The Captain’s eyes narrowed as he paid closer attention to Clint’s appearance, taking in the sight of the bow and Clint’s disheveled form.

  
Since they had moved into Stark Tower two months after the fight that had brought them all together, Clint had been discovering little things about his teammates’ personalities. Like the fact that Steve could not do without a big breakfast to start the day, and just about insisted on feeding everyone an old-fashioned cooked breakfast if he managed to gain control of the kitchen before Bruce did. And that the super soldier was the type to worry.

  
“Yes, Mom.” Clint joked as he got himself a glass to pour out some orange juice. Natasha had beaten the habit of proper hygiene and sharing into him. She hated seeing him gulp juice or milk directly from the carton. And when Natasha decided to teach someone a lesson, it stuck, fast. “I wanted an early morning workout.”

  
Pepper smiled at him. “You two really start the day early.” She glanced at her watch – a delicate rose-and-white-gold creation that matched her tasteful cream and peach pantsuit, red-blond hair perfectly coiffed. “It’s barely half-past seven.”

  
“Both of them have spent too much time in the barracks.” Natasha glided into the kitchen, her steps soundless despite her heels, looking as put together as Pepper, in a charcoal-grey jacket and pencil skirt with a crimson blouse. She looked stunningly dangerous. Probably doing Pepper a favour and re-establishing her gig as ‘Natalie Rushman’ from Stark’s legal department. “Good morning, Pepper, Steve.” Her hand hit Clint lightly on the shoulder as she walked past him to get to the coffee machine. “Idiot. You should have called me.”

  
“Awww… Nat, I just needed to work it off!” He protested, deliberately injected a hint of a whine into his voice, knowing full well that it would not put her off, but doing it anyway. “And it worked too! Stark’s new obstacle course is absolutely fantastic!”

  
Natasha snorted indelicately and muttered something under her breath. He thought she was calling him an idiot, amongst other things. He grinned and finished his juice, before pouring himself another cup. Everyone had started to unwind around each other. Hard not to, when they practically lived in each other’s pockets. Tony had designated the top 10 floors of Stark Tower for ‘Avengers’ use’ and each of the ‘living’ floors were divided into two apartments. Other than Tony – who had the penthouse – and Bruce – whose other half of the floor held the Hulk’s ‘playroom’, everyone was sharing floors. Most of the time, they gathered on the ‘Common floor’ for meals and company.

  
Steve made a face when Natasha grabbed an apple once her coffee was done and nodded to Pepper, both women making their way out of the kitchen. “Not staying for breakfast?” Clint had to admire the expression the captain wore: big-eyed, part kicked-puppy, part pleading. It suited him very well despite his size.

  
“Sorry, Steve.” Pepper and Natasha chorused, the two redheads’ heels clicking in tandem as they walked to the elevator. “Business meeting in ten.”

  
“You two scare the hell outta me.” Tony drawled as he got out of the elevator just in time to hear their words. The inventor wore a grease-stained, worn band t-shirt and torn jeans, a far-cry from the polished billionaire that the public knew. Next to him, Bruce murmured a greeting as he made way for them, in his trademark violet shirt and pants.

  
“Tony, you’ve got an R&D meeting at three. Do. Not. Forget.” Pepper said sternly, by way of answer as she glanced back down at her tablet. “JARVIS, make sure that he remembers.”

  
“Of course, Ms. Potts.” Came the calm answer. “I will do my best to remind Sir.”

  
“Traitor.” Tony grumbled but was plainly unwilling to continue the argument. “Will that be all, Ms. Potts?” Clint could only see Tony’s back as he faced the two women in the elevator, but the billionaire was dressed shabbily and his arms bore black streaks, which meant that he had been in his workshop, probably for the whole night. He could imagine the smile that Tony offered his CEO as they went through their little ritual for the day.

  
“That will be all, Mr. Stark.” Pepper smiled as the doors closed.

  
Meanwhile, Bruce had zombie-shuffled into the kitchen, looking half-asleep as he moved directly to ‘his’ cupboard to fish out his tea of choice. He mumbled something as he walked past Steve, which was answered with a cheerful “Good Morning, Bruce.” So Clint was not all that surprised when he was treated to a mumbled ‘Morning…” as well. But Bruce… like Tony, was not all that coherent before his first cup of tea.

  
At the moment, however, Tony was bouncing into the kitchen in a way that made Clint feel tired just by looking at him. The man had either overdosed on coffee, again, or had invented something new and was wired. His hair was messy and his dark eyes were lively, if ringed with shadows.

  
“Steve!” He snuck one hand around Steve to steal some bacon and received a disapproving look at his actions.

  
“Tony, I just fried them. They’re still hot.”

  
“Hot is crispy, Cappy. Live a little.” Tony retorted as he pinched a piece and popped it into his mouth. “Ow! Ow! Ow! ‘Ot!” He flailed his hands at his mouth, half-chewing, half-fanning in hopes of cooling the bacon down.

  
Steve did not even have to say ‘I told you so’. His reproving expression said it all. Still, he poured Tony a glass of water. The genius took it, swallowed his mouthful of bacon and then downed the half the glass at once. “Thanks, Cap. Needed that.” He patted Steve’s shoulder gratefully.

  
Clint’s eyes narrowed. Was that… a faint blush on the Captain’s face?

  
“You really should know better, Tony.” Steve’s scolding words were waved off.

  
“I’m fine, Steve, really I am.” Tony slung his arm around Steve’s shoulders, though he clearly had to stretch a good deal to do it. “You don’t need to worry about little ole' me. I do this all the time.” He said blithely with a grin.

  
And no, Clint was not imagining it. Steve really was blushing now. He blinked, once. This was unexpected. He would have bet on them taking longer than this to get their act together.

  
Tony and Steve had fought like cats and dogs from the time the team had moved in together. The former was brash and mouthy, the living embodiment of the fast-paced future. He seemed to live to defy expectations and orders. Tony Stark was, in his own words, a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. And many – Nat included- had been tricked by his public façade. Everyone took the shallow, self-serving image he projected seriously and loved to hate him, or vice versa. He was every PR manager’s nightmare.

  
Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was America’s Golden Boy. The ‘Sentinel of Liberty’ was the champion of the underdogs, upholder of justice and… many other titles of praise. (Yeesh, he’d been spending too much time with Phil, to remember all that!) He projected the image of wholesome, traditional manners and values and proper respect. Baby-blue eyes combined with high-cheekbones, square jaw and Irish-fair skin, he was classically attractive. He was the poster-boy for chivalry and honor and all that jazz. It was no wonder that he had clashed with Tony badly in the beginning.

  
It had taken several team missions before they had gotten used to each other. In the field, Iron Man and Captain America worked like a decades-long partnership, playing off each other’s skills and abilities to the greatest effect. At least, that was after the Captain had accidentally whacked Stark into a building with his shield or when Stark had grabbed Cap to get him out of the way of an explosion and had gotten a dented faceplate as Cap’s reflexes kicked in before sense did.

  
And now they were… sorta flirting with each other. Clint tilted his head slightly, watching as Tony tried to sneak another piece of bacon and Steve berated him mildly for it. Well, Tony was flirting, but that was the norm for him. Steve was… scolding would be the correct term, but Clint was pretty sure that their team leader was trying hard not to smile at Tony’s antics.

  
“Tony! That’s enough! Leave some for Clint and Bruce!” Steve finally grabbed their resident engineer’s wrist, after Tony had stolen his fourth piece of bacon.

  
“But Steeeveeee…”

  
“I’m deducting the pieces from your plate.” Steve was implacable. “You’ve had enough. Go pour out coffee for the rest of us or set the table.” He pushed Tony gently in the direction of the coffee machine.

  
“Spoiltsport.” Tony pouted, then eyed Clint, who raised his own eyebrows, already seeing the mischief in Tony’s eyes.

  
“What?”

  
“J told me that you tried the newest course.” Tony poured out the first mug of coffee.

  
“Yep.”

  
“You wanna tell me exactly how you found it, Merida?” Predictably enough, Tony drank the first mug, gulping down the hot liquid to the dregs. Only once his coffee addiction was satisfied, did he start preparing coffee for everyone else. “Cause unless you’re satisfied with how it is, I can’t tweak it until I’ve gotten some feedback.”

  
“Oh fine.” He relented, explaining how he normally worked when forced to squeeze into tiny spaces. He could not shoot a target from over a hundred yards away when he had just about doubled up on himself and had less than five inches of draw on his bow. He was the best, but that was an impossible shot. He had to improvise a new ledge to shoot from that had him hanging upside down like a demented bat.

  
Of course, that had Tony laughing and promising to design greater challenges for him.

  
They had moved to sitting at the table by then and Steve set their plates before them. Bruce had a veggie omelet while the rest of them had sausages, bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs. Tony had already set out their coffee – just about the only thing the genius could be trusted to remember and make in the kitchen.

  
Clint grinned. The atmosphere was light, friendly and cozy. Tony’s hands were waggling animatedly in the air as he described something to Steve, who was watching with rapt attention. Bruce looked like he was about to fall asleep in his omelet. If only Phil were here… He shook his head, not wanting to continue that line of thought as his throat closed up. He stood up. “I’m done.”

  
Steve looked up, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Are you sure…” He began before Clint cut him off quickly.  
“I’m sure. I just need a shower and maybe catch up on some sleep. I’ll probably see you all around lunch, yeah?” With that, he left as quickly as possible without making it seem like he was running. There was nothing worse than a worried Mother-Cap on his back.

  
He made it to the elevator before Steve voiced a vague protest, only to be reassured by Tony. It was times like this that Clint really appreciated the engineer’s interference. “My apartment please, JARVIS.”

  
“As you wish, Agent Barton.”

  
=for Scifigrl47=

  
Clint wiped his face with the towel, squinting at the bright sunshine that filtered in through the windows of his bedroom. He shook his head and yawned, feeling the fatigue that had built up in his muscles from his early morning practice. He leaned his head to the right, feeling his neck muscles tense and relax before noticing, very belatedly that there was someone sitting on his bed. A painfully familiar and hated someone.

  
He threw the towel in Loki’s direction, hoping it would serve as a distraction as he leapt for his bow, which was on the dresser just out of reach. “JARVIS!” He yelled, before he choked, his voice simply not working.

  
Adrenaline coursed though him as he gripped his bow and drew, swearing inwardly as he realized he could not talk louder than a certain volume. “What the hell are you doing here?” He growled, glaring at Loki, arrow already aimed.

  
“Your taste in books is absolutely deplorable.” The dark-haired God of Mischief pointed out, dressed in the exact same green and black tunic with gold trim, flicking idly through one of the trashy paperbacks Clint kept, mostly for keeping himself amused on stakeouts.

  
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” He bit the words out. If he could speak louder, it would have been a furious snarl.

  
“No ‘Welcome home, darling?’” The Cheshire cat grin on Loki’s pale, sharp features sent chills crawling up and down his spine. “Midgardian standards of manners have dropped since the last time I saw you.”

  
The fact that Loki seemed mostly unconcerned with the arrow aimed for his head made Clint even more wary. He could not forget the way how his mind had been turned inside out and repurposed. Only his training kept the fear of that happening again from overwhelming him. Worse, the bastard had prevented him from calling for help. He had no idea if the rest of the team knew what was going on right now, since he had asked Tony to ensure that JARVIS did not monitor his apartment unless specifically requested to.

  
“Aren’t you supposed to be locked up?” Clint gritted out.

  
“I once called you the one with heart.” Piercing green eyes focused on Clint, the calculation in them like a palpable pressure against his mind. “It is astounding how that can change so swiftly.”

  
There was something, not quite right with the situation. Clint waited, knowing better than to let any emotion show on his face, no matter how much he wanted to put an arrow into Loki’s eye. Eye. His _eyes_. During the invasion, Loki’s eyes had been _blue_.

  
He must have shown some indication of his realization, because Loki moved. He fired reflexively, knowing that he had to get the shot off. Had to incapacitate Thor’s brother in that moment. Because there was no way he could defeat Loki otherwise.  
The arrow embedded itself in the wall, gouging deep into the concrete as Loki vanished.

  
And reappeared next to Clint.

  
He lashed out with the bow, muscle memory reacting even as he registered the presence. An insanely strong hand gripped onto his wrist, and yanked, pulling him off-balance. Before he could twist himself free, he was face-to-face with Loki.

  
“You are a little more amusing than Thor.” Loki commented. Then he tilted his head, considering. “Did you mourn your beloved Son of Coul?” The question was cool, filled with nothing but clinical curiosity. Curiosity brought about by the knowledge that the demi-god had obtained from him during the time he saw the world through that distorted blue lens. The detachment in that tone ignited Clint’s simmering rage at Phil’s death and his helpless self-loathing at being an accomplice in it, past the point of tolerance, overriding his logical side.

  
“You-!” Clint’s throat closed up as the spell Loki had placed on him came into effect. Wanting to do nothing but hurt the demi-god before him, he kicked and twisted, using one of Natasha’s moves to break free and attack as viciously as he could.

 

They tussled, sending the few decorations on his dresser to the floor, Clint desperately battling against his opponent’s superior reach, strength and speed. He used his bow to limit Loki’s ability to get a grip on him. He had to avoid being ‘caught’ at all costs.

  
It only took a few more moments of exchanging blows with Loki before his sense of preservation kicked in and he realized that Loki was _playing_ with him. There was little doubt he was going to lose the moment he was pinned. He ducked under a blow and threw a punch, missing at a crucial moment. In the next, Loki’s pale, cold fingers dug into his neck, grabbing him in a chokehold and pressed him to the wall.

  
“You need to do better, Archer…” He smirked. “Midgardians are so… fragile.” The corners of Loki’s eyes crinkled slightly in a malicious grin.

  
“The team will know of you… by now…” Clint gasped, meeting brilliant green eyes, struggling to free himself.

  
Loki’s expression grew even more amused, and possibly, maniacal. “Oh, but I’m counting on that.” He purred. “What would your precious teammates do if I choose to repay my debts in this fashion?”

  
At the words, Clint felt the hand on his neck grow colder, and his body tingled. His temples pounded as fear, rather than whatever spells Loki had on him, choked his breath once again. No. No! He could not let this happen again!

  
He felt more than heard his teammates made their way into his apartment just then, the front door torn off its hinges as the team clattered inside. And collapsed to the ground as he was let go, choking, panting as Steve charged into the room with his shield before him, in nothing more than his workout clothes, followed immediately by Natasha, who was at least, suited up.

  
“Loki.” The Captain stated, looking grim.

  
“I’ve said my piece. I really see no reason to stay. Tell my not-brother I’ll see him soon enough.” Loki chuckled and vanished just in time to escape the taser-discs Natasha shot at him. The small metal plates landed on the bed, crackling slightly as they burned the sheets.

  
“Barton, status?” Nat, his friend not Natasha the Black Widow, was kneeling beside him, green eyes filled with worry as she looked him over, checking for injury.

  
“Nothing… physical.” He managed, feeling mostly like himself but unable to hide the dread that Loki had made him into a sleeping agent once again. “But he did… something. Don’t know what. Might be…” His breathing hitched. The word was painful to say aloud. “Compromised.”

  
“JARVIS, tell Stark and Banner to get some scans up. We’ll be bringing Barton to Medical. Also, contact Thor if you can.” Clint heard the Captain order as Natasha helped him up. “We need to find out what Loki did.”

  
“Agreed, Captain Rogers.” JARVIS answered promptly. “Both Sir and Dr. Banner are currently heading to the laboratory in question. Do you wish Sir to attend in the armor?”

  
Clint could see Steve glance at him worriedly, before he resumed the role of Captain, personal concern for him replaced by the possibility that he might be a danger to the team. Tony was the most vulnerable member of their team outside of the suit. It was the Captain who scanned the room, looking for a hidden enemy or clues. “That’s probably a good idea until he’s mostly cleared.”

  
“Done, Captain.”

  
“Come on, Clint. We’ll get you scanned, then if need be,” Natasha hesitated, knowing how Clint would feel but needing to voice the likely case scenario. Her tone was gentle, but her eyes hard, already promising retribution on Loki. “We’ll get you to SHIELD for containment.”

  
“Thanks, Nat.” He said gratefully.

  
Her lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles. “Or I could hit you like I did the first time.”

  
He cracked up, his chuckles edged with hysteria and terror, needing the release of tension and fear badly enough that it soon became full-blown laughter.

  
“You done?” Steve offered him a hand, eyes filled with wary understanding as he indulged in his fit of hysterics.

  
“Yeah.” He took the hand, accepting the offered support, both physical and emotional. “Let’s get to the lab.”

  
=for Scifigrl47=

  
“I can’t find anything.” Bruce squinted at the readings on the monitor an hour later, running his hand though his hair. Unlike Tony, who insisted on everything being as technologically top-of-the-line as possible, Bruce was used to and preferred monitors and paper. “Nothing is showing in your blood work, JARVIS scanned your vitals, pulse and heart rate: normal.”

  
Tony snorted, the armor’s faceplate up as he clanked his way carefully towards the other scientist in the room. “The other scans will take a little longer. Another ten or so minutes. Why are we using such slow things again? JARVIS? Remind me to get started on something that can get everything done in five minutes or less.”

  
“As you wish, Sir.” It still amazed Clint that an A.I. could sound so patiently long-suffering. Then again, long-suffering was an emotion everyone felt often when dealing with the whirlwind that was Tony Stark.

  
“Tony… focus.” Steve cut in, well-used to the way how Stark acted when he was impatient. “Can you find anything that Loki might have done to Clint?”

  
“Maybe.” Tony had removed his gauntlets to calibrate the equipment they had in the medical laboratory-slash-infirmary that was part of the ‘Avengers’ section’ in the Tower. “But as Jolly Green would tell you, specific radiation reading is time-consuming.” Somehow, he managed to shrug in the armored suit, the various plates clicking slightly at his movement.

  
“I can still hear you, you know. Couldn’t you discuss this when I’m outta this tube? ” Clint grumbled as he waited for the MRI to finish scanning. He was still trying to figure out how well-stocked in equipment the lab was. He had gone through a PET scan already and was feeling mildly claustrophobic. He was laying in a white tube whose walls ‘clunked’ at him constantly. “When I can be, y’know, a part of the conversation?”

  
“Birdbrains should stick to what they know best. Stay still or your results will be skewed.” Tony shot back, but there was no heat in it. “There’s nothing abnormal so far.”

  
“Can this even ID what Loki did?” Clint could hear the worry in Cap’s voice. “Magic isn’t the same as…”

  
“Ah, ah, ah!” Tony interjected with disgust plain in his voice. “Don’t bring up that word. I hate magic. There’s no logic to it. And if Loki used what he did last time…” The engineer’s voice was speculative. “We’ll know. I have the readings from Barton when he was on the helicarrier. He had high levels of tesseract-specific gamma radiation that dissipated completely after the Battle. Since the baseline of that radiation is 0 in the average human, Bruce theorized that the levels of particle radiation are in direct relation to the interference with electron-flow in Katniss’ intrinsic…” His words faded, the rambling coming to an end most likely due to the incomprehension on Steve’s face, Clint guessed.

  
“Simply, if Clint tests positive for any tesseract-radiation, we’ll have to consider him compromised.” Bruce explained and paused for a moment, probably looking at the results. “Right now, everything’s negative.”

  
“We’ll need Thor on this.” Steve concluded. “He’s our expert on all things Loki.”

  
“Hell if I know where Fabio’s located right now.” Tony said, exasperated. “He could be with daddy-dearest or with Foster.”

  
“Natasha’s gone to check that out. And to check and see if SHIELD has any information on this.” Steve sounded like he was trying to soothe Tony’s ire while maintaining his authority. “But in the meantime, I think we can prevent Clint from doing too much harm.”

  
To Clint’s relief, at that point, the machine stopped making those noises and dimmed. “Done?” He asked hopefully as Bruce slid him out of the tube.

  
“So far, yes.” Bruce smiled at him, his scruffy presence comforting despite what he could become. “You’re clear.”

  
“Thank God.” Clint sighed and shivered at the mere memory of being under Loki’s control once again.

  
“Don’t be too happy yet.” The doctor cautioned. “We can only test for so much and there’s no way for us to clear you definitively.”

  
“For all we know, Loki just pretended to spell me, just to screw with us all.” Clint snarled.

  
“That’s entirely possible, for Loki.” Bruce agreed. “I don’t think he’s any less crazy now than he was the first time we…” He paused briefly to choose the right word. “Fought.”

  
“Right.” Clint held out his hands for his clothes. There was nothing to make a person feel more vulnerable than being in a thin hospital smock. “Gimme, gimme…” He added impatiently.

  
Bruce shook his head, amused and turned to get the small pile even as Steve walked in and snagged them for Clint. “Everything’s clear so far, so I think you’re safe.” He informed Clint, who sighed in relief. “But just in case, you’re confined to the Tower until we can get a hold of Thor.”

  
Clint hesitated in the midst of pulling on his pants, surprised. That prospect was much better than what he expected. The team’s treatment of him was still surprising; despite the amount of time they had spent together. If he had been in SHIELD, they would have stuck him in an ‘observation chamber’ and left him there for God-knew how long.

  
Fortunately, Fury did not run the Avengers. Not with Stark funding most of their equipment in addition to being one of the co-leaders. Having a higher authority only scraped the billionaire raw and made him even more unpredictable to deal with. Having Steve Rogers as the other leader, meant that all members of the team were well taken care of. Any infringement of his team’s well-being was akin to a personal affront to their Captain’s honor and integrity. With Captain America’s backing, all of the Avengers could get away with a lot more than the average SHIELD agent.

  
That mostly applied to Clint though. No one dared to offend Bruce for fear of the Hulk making an appearance. Natasha still terrified the senior handlers, let alone the newest recruits. Thor was too… Thor. That gave him an automatic ‘get out of jail free’ card since everyone accepted his excuse of ‘misunderstanding’ the situation simply because he was from ‘out of town’. Meanwhile, everyone, including Fury to some extent, was in awe of Captain America. Moreover, Steve had the best ‘who me?’ expression that Clint had ever seen. Anyone who had that faux-innocent look could get away with a lot. Combined with his legendary sacrifice, Steve was denied very little by any of the armed forces. Then, there was the Avengers’ genius engineer. SHIELD might not have all the details of what happened in Afghanistan but very few people could single-handedly blow up a terrorist camp. Not to mention, Stark was only a nominal member of SHIELD and technically, a _civilian_. Any agent who forgot what Tony Stark was capable of, if pushed, deserved what he did to them.

  
That left Clint, who was human, a mere sniper with unusual talents, had a history of ‘being compromised’ once before and had a hand in causing the death of SHIELD’s top handler and third-in-command. A ‘traitor’ in the eyes of the close-knit SHIELD agents. He was lucky if SHIELD threw him into the deepest, darkest, solitary prison they had once they were informed of the latest situation.

  
“That’s fine. Better than fine. Just make sure I have my TV and video games.” He said hoarsely, his chest feeling tight with emotion he refused to show. His team trusted him. Really trusted him.

  
“Sir wishes to inform you that any products by Microsoft are banned from the Tower.” JARVIS announced, his prim tones hiding the fact that the A.I. fully agreed with his creator.

  
“I’ll confiscate the next Xbox you buy! That console is a disgrace!” Tony’s voice added over the speakers.

  
“Tony…” Steve’s exasperated answer got a rusty chuckle out of Clint as the panic in him began to subside at the sheer… normality his team-turned-family was displaying. “Is this really something we should be discussing right now?”

  
He managed to push his worries to the back of his mind as he watched Steve and Tony bicker about the advisability of destroying expensive entertainment based solely on their origin. He had to believe that things would work out. He doubted that he could deal with another situation like that one that had kick-started the formation of the Avengers.

  
=for Scifigrl47=

  
The restrictions lasted for all of two days until the next attack on New York City. The blaring alarm had started barely past dawn, calling almost all of them out of bed. Clint had hesitated for all of two seconds before deciding that he would suit up like the others. If he was ordered to stand down, he would but until then, he would be prepared to fight. Less than 10 minutes later, all the Avengers – sans Thor and Steve - had gathered at the modified landing pad in their respective gear, and by that time, Tony was updating them on the specifics of the cause of the call.

  
“Doom sent Doombots -couldn’t he come up with a better name? I mean, seriously? – to trash Richards’ place again.” Tony half-explained, half-grumbled as he ran up the Quinjet’s cargo ramp, dressed only in his undersuit, his armor flying in next to him. “He really has to work on his jealousy issues. The ass is so fixated on Richards. Of course, he has to choose a time when the Richards’ are not in the city!”

  
“I’ll agree with you there, Tony. Victor von Doom is obsessed with Reed.” Bruce commented as he looked at the live feed of the city, watching a couple hundred Doombots stomp their way towards Rockefeller Center. Doom had, apparently, decided to disregard the Avengers completely. “Steve called. He was jogging in Central Park and got the warning via phone. He’s en route to the Baxter Building right now.” He flicked through a couple of the camera angles on the tablet. “He’ll probably get there before we do if he runs full out.”

  
The armor began to disassemble to permit its creator to suit up. Clint watched as Tony stepped into the metal embrace even as Natasha imperiously gestured him into the co-pilot’s seat. “You know, I don’t know what’s worse. One Victor or a few hundred of him.” He snuck a glance at the tablet. “Especially since they’re poor copies.” The green-caped robots were marching determinedly down 5th Avenue, chanting “Bow before Doom!”

  
“What should we do?” Natasha inquired as the ramp closed and the jet began to rise.

  
“Right.” Tony, now fully in the suit, projected the progress of the Doombots. At that moment, Clint saw Tony drop the lackadaisical manner and snap into the persona as Iron Man, whose grasp of tactics almost rivaled Cap’s. “Widow, drop Bruce and me at Rockefeller. We’ll take out as many as we can there. Hawkeye, get a perch on East 46th Street. They seem pretty single-minded, so take out any strays you can. Widow, get to Cap and get him to suit up. We’ll squish them between us.”  
“Why does Doom keep doing this, anyhow?” Clint grumbled as he assumed control of the plane whilst Widow strapped on her Bites. “There’s got to be better use of Latverian resources than to send Doombots to New York.”

  
“Maybe one day, if all goes as Victor hopes, Sue will find herself being served divorce papers as Richards becomes Doom’s kept man.”

  
Widow’s dry comment had him swerving the jet slightly, choking at the unexpected comment.

  
“Oy! Keep the jet stable! You don’t want Hulk to start smashing early!” Stark’s voice was mechanized by the suit, but it did little to hide the annoyance in his tones.

  
“Yeah, yeah.” Clint leveled the jet out immediately as they blazed their way to Rockefeller within the next couple of minutes.  
While Bruce was the one who jumped out of the jet, Iron Man keeping pace with his descent, it was Hulk who landed with a grin right before he smashed, physically into the ranks of Doombots. Bruce’s personification of anger bared his teeth as he began tearing into the robots. In the meantime, Iron Man watched his back, the whine of the armor’s repulsors filling the air as he took out Doombots that were attacking with concussive blasts of their own.

  
“Hulk smash more than Tin Man!” The grin that Hulk directed at Iron Man made it clear that it was a challenge.

  
“Really? Let’s put that to the test, Green Bean!”

  
“No fair! I’m late to the game!” Clint complained several minutes later as he found an appropriate location that allowed him to have a good vantage of the dim surroundings. He saw that Stark had pulled out the mini-missiles that took down every bot within a twenty foot radius. “Does this mean I get a handicap?” It was a good thing that Stark chose Rockefeller center as the point of interception, since the decorative lighting for Christmas augmented the street lamps. He drew his bow and started firing arrows.

  
“Latecomers’ penalty, Legolas! You snooze, you lose!” Stark’s cocky answer got an annoyed smirk in response.

  
“I hate you guys.” Clint grumbled as he used an explosive arrow to eliminate a cluster of five Doombots. The street below was already liberally littered with bits and pieces of the broken robots, with mostly minor property damage. There was some cracks to the street itself but it was mostly cosmetic and relatively easy to fix. “Why does Doom keep sending them with capes and togas? Are Latverian tailors that outta business?”

  
“Bulk purchase must be cheaper. Hah! That’s forty-eight at last count! Hey bucket-for-brains, where’s your boss?” The last was yelled at the Doombots, who were congregating on the Avenger who was deemed the largest threat – Iron Man.

  
“Bow before Doom!” The bots chanted as they surrounded Stark and fired simultaneously. “Oh come on, that’s not fair…” Iron Man snarked as he flew upwards…

  
And a very familiar shield flew directly into the convergence of beams, deflecting them back at the bots as it passed through, bounced off a wall and ricocheted back to its owner’s outstretched hand. “Can’t you stay out of trouble for five minutes?” Captain America inquired as he leaped into the fray, using the edge of his shield to slice through one of the robot’s necks.  
“No can do, Spangles! I’m ahead only by six at last count.” Clint tuned out the rest of Iron Man’s and Captain America’s mid-battle flirting, concentrating on backing up Widow, who was garroting the bots methodically.

  
He would later insist that it was his focus on the familiar sequence of actions: draw, aim, fire; that was the reason he failed to realize that there was a ringing sound in his ears that did not originate from his earpiece malfunctioning. At least, not until the ringing was so loud he tried to remove the comm. device and found nothing on his left ear.

  
It was akin to standing in a large church bell as the air itself vibrated with the resonant, brassy note. His entire body trembled with the reverberations. “Choose.” A deep, rich voice boomed, making him look around wildly for the source. “Sing or dance.”

  
“What?” The words were so bizarre he just froze for a split second before he regained his senses. “Stark! This is a really bad time to be testing something new on the comms!”

  
“What are you talking about, Katniss?” Stark’s answer was indignant.

  
The sound came back at that moment, running through the entire gamut from the deep boom of earlier to a shrieking high pitch that stabbed into his brain. He gasped, even as he heard everyone else on the team cry out his name in worry. “Choose. Choose. Choose.” The voice repeated.

  
Clint bit his lip, drawing blood, hoping the pain would center him. The prick did nothing to help as the sound reached increasingly painful heights. His bones felt like they were vibrating in time with the notes, making it almost impossible to concentrate. He fired one more arrow before his body gave up on him and he curled into a fetal position on the roof, hearing the voice repeating its demands.

  
“Hawkeye? Hawkeye!”

  
“Barton! Status!”

  
“What the hell’s going on, Bird Brain?!”

  
It was Stark who reached him first, who saw him curled up on his side, trying to cover his ears as best he could whilst still holding his bow. “Voice… in my head…” He gritted out, barely able to hear what Tony said over the shuddering pain.

  
“Son of a bitch.” The snarl was a little clearer. There was a moment’s pause after he swore as Tony informed the rest of the team on the situation. “What’s it telling you?”

  
“That… I have to… sing… or… dance…” The answer was not at all what Tony was expecting.

  
“Ooo-kay.” Another pause. “I’ll help you up. Try… singing something.”

  
“Like… what?” His clenched teeth were almost grinding together as the reverberations hit the lower end of the spectrum once more. His pride was aghast at the indignity. Hawkeye, taken down by noise.

  
“Something simple.” Tony suggested as he helped Clint to lean against the wall. Then, Stark, the asshole, began humming the tune for ‘Stupid Cupid’.

  
“How…is… _That_ … simple?!” He ground out but tried anyway. “-love and…it’s a cry…ing shame… And… I know that… you’re the one to blame…”

  
With each word sung, or more aptly, gasped out, the sound and vibrations lessened. When he reached, “Stupid Cupid, stop picking on me!” the throbbing noise had stopped and the pain was gone.

  
“Hawkeye?” Cap’s query over the comm. was both worried and a demand for information at the same time.

  
“’M fine, Cap.” He reported. “Pain’s gone.”

  
“Iron Man, get Hawkeye back to base. What happened can’t be natural. We can finish up here. SHIELD’s already sending a clean-up team.” Rogers ordered.

  
“I can still…” Clint began to protest as Stark rested his gauntleted hands on his shoulders.

  
“Not until we find out for sure what happened.” The veto was firm and uncompromising.

  
“Fine.” He knew when he was beaten. He also did not relish the thought of experiencing that horrifying sound again.

  
“C’mon, Kagome.” Stark gripped him gently. “I promise I won’t tell the reporters that you spent some time in Tony Stark’s arms.”

  
“Inuyasha? Really, Stark?” He grumbled then yelped as Stark hefted him up into a bridal carry at the last instant before taking off.

 

“Damn it, Tin head!”

  
=for Scifigrl47=

  
Steve and Natasha were the last two to return to the tower, a little after noon, having stayed for the debriefing with SHIELD whilst Bruce had been sent back shortly after he had changed back. Of course, by that time, Tony had already gotten chewed out by Clint for the bridal carry, started the basic scans and tests and ordered brunch, knowing that clean up and SHIELD’s debriefings could last for hours.

  
“Does Tony have any idea what happened to Clint, JARVIS?” Steve asked, Natasha waiting next to him, her unnatural stillness indicating her worry. They had chosen to head directly to Medical rather than cleaning up.

  
“The tests have found nothing so far, Captain Rogers.” JARVIS answered. “Sir is with Agent Barton in the med labs double-checking the results. Dr. Banner is theorizing that whatever ails Agent Barton, it is most likely due to what our,” There was the tiniest of pauses. “Unexpected visitor did.” JARVIS’ words retained the same neutral tone, but the obvious distaste and unhappiness at Loki having bypassed the tower’s defenses flavored the air.

  
“Any news about Thor?” Natasha asked quietly.

  
“Regretfully, Agent Romanoff, Dr. Foster has informed us that Master Thor is not with her at this point in time. However, she does expect him to return within the week and will inform us upon his arrival.”

  
“Thank you, JARVIS.” Steve let out a breath at the promise of a possible cure for Clint in the relatively near future.

  
“You are most welcome, Captain.”

  
The elevator doors opened and both of them paused at the sight of Bruce tapping something into a tablet whilst Clint laid on one of the beds in the next room, through the transparent wall, Tony, no longer in the suit, playing with a tablet of his own, next to him. “How is he?”

  
The same query in two voices had Bruce looking up from the tablet in surprise. “Physically? Nothing’s detectable right now. But because Tony,” Bruce indicated his fellow scientist with a tilt of his head. “Recorded everything on that rooftop, we have some data.” He took a breath. “As far as we can tell? Loki ‘cursed’ Clint.”

  
“Wait, cursed? As in…” Steve frowned, trying to come up with a suitable comparison. “As in ‘poisoned apple and true love’s kiss’ fairy tale kinda cursed?”

  
“Not quite.” Bruce shook his head then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But close, I guess. We haven’t figured out the trigger so far, but we’re guessing when the ‘curse’-for lack of a better word- activates, Clint has to choose to do one of several actions. If he waits too long or refuses, the curse inflicts pain.”

  
“Clint’s tough. He can handle pain.” Natasha pointed out as she leaned against the wall, her face expressionless.

  
“Not this kind. I don’t think anyone can handle this kind of pain.” Bruce tapped on the thin glass screen and a video with readings was projected onto the wall. Steve and Natasha watched the replay of Clint convulsing on the concrete, valiantly trying to cover his ears as he shook with pain only he could hear. His earpiece was on the ground, several inches from his ear. The video was obviously taken by the armor, and also scanned Clint’s pulse, heart rate and a couple of other readings.  
Bruce paused the video, fiddled with something, then Steve and Natasha could see an overlay of Clint’s skeleton over the picture before the video continued playing. And it was clear that his bones were, literally, rattling inside his body.

  
“Clint hears a sequence of sounds that alternately hurts his mind or does that to his skeletal structure.” Another few taps. “It was a good thing Tony had him singing for a bit. A little longer with that noise and… JARVIS, could you project further progression?”

  
“Certainly, Dr. Banner.” The skeletal overlay began to shake even more violently, then both Steve and Natasha looked grim as tiny fractures began to show in the projection.

  
“Is there any way to prevent the damage or stop the curse?” Natasha said quietly, her green eyes hard, clearly burying her concern for her partner in crime with a possibility that she might be able to do something.

  
“Nothing but doing whatever the curse tells him to.” The scientist answered. “Although, it hasn’t been anything truly dangerous so far. He had to choose between singing and dancing here.” Bruce nodded at the video.

  
“That doesn’t mean it’ll remain that way.” She pointed out.

  
They turned abruptly when Tony tapped on the wall and gestured for them to come over, before pointing at the archer on the bed, who had shot upright in bed, eyes wide, in alarm.

  
=for Scifigrl47=

  
Clint had mostly calmed down by the time Tony had breakfast brought in. The ‘curse’ as Bruce had termed it, meant that he had to be monitored at all times, but singing and dancing were mostly harmless. He could only hope it remained that way.  
It was a little after Cap and Nat had returned when he felt the prickles on the back of his neck rise. Tony was still rambling about something regarding upgrades and his results when the voice returned. He had jerked straight up, grabbing Tony reflexively on the arm before letting go to let him know the voice was back. “Choose!” It had resounded in his head, but was softer than usual and did not continue. There was only a vague sense of waiting.

  
When the other three avengers hurried into the room, he knew why he had that feeling. The pressure of the voice hit the same volume it had the first time. “Choose! Hug Tony Stark and say ‘My Savior’ or Hug Natasha Romanoff and say ‘You suck’.”

  
“What the fuck kinda choices are those?” He yelped right before the shrill notes hit.

  
“Shit.” Tony had backed away to Bruce’s side, mostly because he was unarmed and none of them had any idea what he had to do this time.

  
“Clint. Clint, can you hear me?” Nat was next to him, not touching him, but close enough.

  
No help for it then. The choices were pretty harmless. He wrapped his arms around Natasha’s slender form, feeling her stiffen minutely, clearly preparing to retaliate if he tried anything. He tightened his hold slightly, just enough to press their bodies together briefly. “You suck.” He informed her and she broke the hug before punching him just enough to send him falling back to the bed. “Ow.” He lay flat, blinking as the presence and accompanying sound dissipated.

  
“I can and will hit you again. I don’t like you that much.” She intoned. There was a tiny upturn to her lips that said otherwise. “What was that about?”

  
“Wait, was that it?” Tony was pushing forward again. “You hug Angry Red over there and it’s gone?”

  
“Hugging Nat is way better than the alternative.” Clint answered, staring at the ceiling. How was this his life?

  
“Which was?”

  
Surprisingly, it was Steve who asked. Clint raised his head. “It was hug Nat or hug Stark.” That got a few blinks and a face from Tony.

  
“Uh, no thanks. Nix the hugs. I don’t do the touchy-thing.” Tony waved his hands in protest.

  
“I had to ‘choose’.” He was really starting to hate that word now. “Hug Nat and say ‘you suck’; or hug Stark and say ‘my savior’. I think I took the better option.”

  
Tony grimaced before he responded. “I like the savior bit. I mean, it’s totally true, I did save your featherless ass, I agree with that. But nope, nix the hugging. No touchy.”

  
“That’s... actually pretty benign.” Bruce mused.

  
“I-I don’t see the point of something like that.” Steve was faintly pink. “There’s no real point to doing something like that.”

  
Nat was giving him a Look. It was a combination of terrifying and amused. Terrifying for him and amusing for her. “So, I suck?”

  
“I didn’t have a choice in what to say, Nat.” He protested at once. “I figured it was harmless enough…”

  
“Yeah.” He saw her relax out of relief. “But I think this should be reported to SHIELD. They don’t really have any resources to deal with magic curses but they do have some contacts that we can use if Thor takes too long.”

  
There was a sudden, abrupt cackling from Tony. “Bet you a hundred that Bird-brain has to hug Pleakley eventually.”

  
The entire room just paused as everyone –other than Steve- just stared at Tony for a long moment trying to connect the reference. “Did you… just… call Nick Fury… Pleakley?” Natasha’s mouth was not-quite hanging open.

  
Clint had no idea which was weirder: Fury acting like the one-eyed alien from Lilo and Stitch or having to hug Fury. “Uhhh… I think my brain just melted.”

  
“I got bored of pirate jokes.” Tony shrugged. “Thought everyone would like a change of pace.

  
“I’m… not touching that. Just… no.” Bruce was shaking his head, trying very hard to hide his smile.

  
“But I thought that was inspired.” Tony argued. “One-eyed references are a lot harder to think of once you leave the pirate genre. Don’t you agree with me?”

  
“Can we get back to the topic at hand, please?” Steve’s interruption, in his Captain tones had Tony straightening reflexively before he scowled at his own immediate response. “Why would Loki curse Clint like this? There’s no point to it.” He repeated.

  
“Other than driving us nuts.” Tony corrected flippantly, before he turned thoughtful. “Which is a possibility, given the way how Loki’s twisty little brain works. If he just wants to keep us guessing and frustrating us with no possible answer, this would be a good way to do it.”

  
“That… actually makes sense.” Natasha looked contemplative. “It is something he would do. Throw a bone of contention into a cohesive team and watch us tear each other apart in paranoia. ”

  
“And you would know that, wouldn’t you, Nat?” Clint looked at his fellow agent. “You evaluated him before.”

  
Her smile was sharp and knowing. Clint did not want or need an answer. Natasha Romanoff was the best SHIELD had at reading and evaluating a person’s motivations and innermost thoughts. She had only misread two people in the years he knew her: Agent Philip Coulson (even thinking the name made his chest ache) and Tony Stark.

  
“We still have to find a way to break this curse.” Steve was, as always, practical and focused. “And just because the choices,” Clint made a face at that word popping up again. “Have been mild, if slightly disruptive so far, doesn’t mean they’ll remain that way.”

  
“Problem is, Cap, we don’t know enough.” Tony emphasized with a gesture at Clint. “And we don’t have a way to scan for any differences caused by –I hate this word- magic. I mean, I’ll find a way, eventually, but it hasn’t happened yet. ”

  
“Maybe I should head over to SHIELD.” Clint forced himself to say. The idea was an awful one but it meant that the team would be safe from anything he could be forced to do. “Tony, you did design their containment facilities to be escape-proof. Well, some of them…”

  
“If you really want to hug Hill or Fury that much, I can arrange for them to visit, you know.” Natasha said dryly. “It’s much easier to do than you think.”

  
“JARVIS, if she does that, I want videos. Especially close ups of Fury’s face.”

  
“If you insist, Sir.”

  
“Tony…”

  
“There was a gap of 6 hours and 53 minutes between the first incidence and the second.” Bruce said hastily, not wanting Steve and Tony to get into one of their arguments on ‘responsibility’ again. “But judging from the way how things are, I don’t think the curse is constricted to timing. It’s probably affected by certain conditions. But I’m not sure how you’ll be affected if you’re kept in isolation.”

  
“So I can probably sit in an isolation chamber at SHIELD and hopefully wait this out.” Clint groaned and hid his face in his hands. “This sucks.”

  
=for Scifigrl47=

  
It was to everyone’s relief when Thor finally arrived a day later. The demi-god of thunder had arrived in the midst of an unexpected shower of freezing rain – probably caused by his usage of Mjolnir, since he had visited Jane Foster in Finland first.  
By then, Clint –at Tony’s and Bruce’s instigation – had begun to drive everyone up the wall. In the attempt to find the triggers needed to activate the curse, he had done somersaults across the tower’s gym; stuck to Tony’s side for two hours, talking about inane things – Tony was not pleased – that came to mind; sparred with Steve; and watched several episodes of _Star Trek_ and _X-Files_. None of that had worked.

  
It was fortunate that Nat had yet to report his situation to SHIELD. God knew what the gossip mill would have made of his reputation if news had gotten out.

  
“Shieldbrothers! I have heard the news from Lady Jane that you needed me and have returned!” Thor’s cheery greeting had made things much happier in the tower. The Asgardian was even broader than Steve, shaggy dark blond hair wet from the rain, wiping the rainwater away from his electric blue eyes and scruffy beard.

  
Normally, Clint would have made a couple of rude remarks about someone who had left them and came back only when it was convenient. But Thor was so… Thor. Goodhearted, cheery and honestly concerned about his friends. It made it horribly difficult to blame him for anything. Even if it was his damned adopted brother at fault.

  
“About time, Thor. Now get Loki’s damned curse off me!” He growled instead, while lounging on the couch before the wall-sized TV. So he could understand why Thor merely looked bewildered.

  
“What ails you, Shieldbrother?” Thor looked him over carefully, the gaze weighted with confusion. His brows knitted together. “What has my brother done?”

  
“Loki saddled me with a curse that makes me do random things like hug Nat or sing at weird times.” He explained. “Isn’t Loki supposed to be locked up in Asgard? How did he even get out?”

  
Thor shifted, looking guilty. “Odin All-father judged that Loki was not in possession of his own will when he attacked Midgard. As such, my brother was released. On the condition that he does no one ill.”

  
That got his attention. “Loki’s out of the slammer and walking about?” He almost-yelled, alarmed.

  
“Peace, Hawk-eye’d one. My brother will cause no harm. Now please, tell me, what has Loki done?”

  
Clint took a deep breath, reminding himself to stay calm. "Loki was in my room. He pinned me to a wall then I felt a surge of cold before Steve and Nat chased him off. But I get the feeling that he had already done what he intended to." He said, patting himself on the back when he managed to keep his voice steady and even. "Two days later, I heard a voice in my head telling me to sing or dance."

  
Thor frowned. “Perhaps Loki has bespelled you, Friend Barton. But he has caused you no harm. ”

  
“No harm?” Clint yelped, now furious. “Thor! Your asshole of a brother did something to me again! I can’t… He did something to me and I can’t… What if this curse of his makes me hurt someone again?”

  
“Frigga All-mother cast the enchantments upon Loki herself. She has no peer amidst the realms in magic.” Thor shook his shaggy head. “Not even Loki can break a spell set by our mother.”

  
“Which part of this are you not getting?” Clint hissed. “Loki put a spell on me so that makes me do stupid stuff like sing or dance or hug Stark of all people at the worst possible times!”

  
Thor’s expression cleared. “Then ‘tis not harm, Clinton! Tis mere mischief!” He actually clapped Clint on the shoulder even as the archer gaped at him.

  
“I…You… He…” Clint sputtered, furious beyond words, leaping to his feet. “I should shoot you!”

  
“T’would be my pleasure to spar with you!” Thor boomed happily, patting Clint on the back.

  
Steve had been on his way to check in on Clint after his workout session. He worried about his teammate, knowing how terrified and helpless the archer had to be feeling. The knowledge of the last time Clint had been under Loki’s control still haunted him. It was with some astonishment that he had overheard the latter half of Clint and Thor's conversation and he could see that the archer, was understandably, growing furious

  
Seeing Clint's fury and Thor's cluelessness, Steve decided that he had to step in. He put a hand on Clint's shoulder, the strong, weighted touch distracting the archer a little from his anger. “Perhaps, there has been a miscommunication.” Steve said quietly to the still smiling Thor. “On Earth, Midgard as you know it, what Loki has done is serious.”

  
Thor blinked. “But ‘tis a mere parlor trick of Loki’s. Meant to amuse, not harm.”

  
“A parlor trick does not cause pain to someone.”Steve said, his voice was almost without inflection, but even Thor could hear the anger behind it. “Bruce can show you Clint's medical records. Your brother's ‘trick’ is hurting Clint.”

  
“I apologize.” If there was one thing Clint could say about Thor, he was sincere. There was only an instant’s hesitation before the Asgardian spoke. “I know not the extent of what Loki has done.”

  
Clint forced himself to breathe through his anger. “Apology accepted. Can you fix what Loki did?”

  
“Perhaps if Clinton would speak of the nature of his experiences, I may be able to divine what Loki has done.” Thor rumbled, looking suitably chastised. “He often bespelled the Warriors Three with curses during our youth.”

  
“Tony took a video of what Clint went through the first time this curse kicked in.” Steve spoke up, sensing that Clint was not calm or removed enough from the situation to explain. “JARVIS, could you play it for Thor to see?”

  
“If you would direct your attention to the screen, Master Odinson?” JARVIS suggested smoothly, the TV flicking to black before replaying the video everyone but Thor had scrutinized in their efforts to help Clint.

  
Thor watched it gravely, setting Mjolnir down on the ground as he did so, noting that Clint had closed his eyes for a brief moment and was taking measured breaths, the archer needing to center himself as he watched the reminder that someone was controlling him once again. “I fear I lack enough knowledge in the magical arts to help our shieldbrother. However, I will find Loki and ask him to put an end to this trickery of his.”

  
“Ask?” Clint choked out even as Thor picked up Mjolnir again and spun around, cape flaring out dramatically as he strode towards the balcony. “You’re going to _ask_ him to stop it?”

  
“Aye!” Thor spun the hammer. “I hope to return with good tidings!” He yelled and flew out of the tower, leaving a gaping Clint and a resigned Steve.

  
“Great.”


	2. Chapter 2

     Of course, now that Thor was out looking for Loki, other things had to happen to make Clint’s life far more difficult. Fury had finally called them in for a ‘procedures debriefing’, which was SHIELD’s way of calling it a meeting to improve the interaction between the Avengers and SHIELD. There was little doubt that Fury had noticed Stark airlifting him out of the battle with the doombots, no matter how Steve and Nat had tried to cover it up.

     Fury was the Director of SHIELD for a reason, and no one got to a high position in SHIELD by being stupid. For all that he had only one eye, he saw more than most people did with two. The briefing was most likely also a way for him to get information about Clint’s unexpected desertion of the battlefield. That was Fury’s style – two birds or more with one stone, as many angles covered as possible. There were always wheels within wheels for Fury.

     Steve had managed to delay Fury for another day, in the hopes that Thor would return quickly with a cure for Clint. That being said, Thor had not taken a cellphone or any other convenient communications device with him when he left. (Not that anything Tony had made so far had lasted longer than a couple of days in the Asgardian's 'tender' care. Much to Tony's annoyance.) So there was no way to tell where he was, what he was doing, or whether there was any headway in his search for Loki.

     That meant that the majority of the team were seated in one of Tony’s ‘discreet’ limousines – Clint personally believed Stark had no understanding of the word ‘discreet’ – and being driven by Tony’s driver Happy, to one of the SHIELD bases in New York. At half-past eight in the morning. A time Stark had spent quite some time expounding his dissatisfaction with.

     The building in question was a normal-looking office block in Queens, with a somewhat shocking paint job. That, Clint suspected, had been Coulson’s touch. Everyone expected government agencies to be ultra modern and classy to intimidate or awe visitors. If not, the buildings in question were bland as unflavored oatmeal, all beiges and creams, meant to be as forgettable as possible.

     The current New York base, however, was a standard glass and concrete office block – with quite a few sub-basements not in the city plans – with liberally applied graffiti on one side and pale red walls. It blended in well with the other office buildings, if one overlooked the liberal greenery decorating the office balconies. It looked far more like a hippie green-the-world advocate than a branch of one of the country’s most efficient spy agencies. There was no sign of it being a spy agency until someone got past the obvious door inspection; then the half-dozen, subtle security checks with fail-safes and redundancies –courtesy of Fury’s paranoia- to get to the ‘agent’ floors. Otherwise, it looked like very normal businesses running themselves. Anyone who failed the door inspection would be shown out of the building politely. Failing the subtler checks meant a one-way-possibly-no-return trip to one of the 'private interview rooms'.

     The team got past the reception area easily – they were all distinctive enough that most of the plain-clothes agents manning reception let them through quickly enough without any challenge. A quick swipe of ID cards over the turnstile followed by biometric-certification and they were through.

     The problems started up when they had to go through the metal detectors manned by the security guards to get to the ‘agent’ floors. This part was where Clint strongly suspected that Fury was just trying to be irritating. Any agent who survived SHIELD’s Operative boot camp would be armed with more than the standard revolver. So it was likely that the metal detectors were more of a 'weeding out the newbies' test: anyone who got caught with a gun here was going to be punished in some creative fashion.

     Sadly, apart from Bruce, everyone on the team had metal on them in the form of weaponry – Steve, Natasha and Clint – or in the form of life support – Tony. And while the former could discreetly set aside their weapons of choice prior to the scan for declaration (Not that Natasha ever declared _everything_ ); there was no way Tony could remove the arc reactor or even permit the security guards to look at it. So that had devolved into an argument with the guards until Stark had bullied his way through with sheer charm and determination. And Clint certainly noticed the way how Nat looked at the guards for giving them so much trouble. They would probably suffer her wrath eventually.

     After that hurdle, was the long walk through the maze-like corridors and strangely marked doors upon leaving the elevator. All the hallways were identically decorated – cream walls with a picture of a plant hung up every thirty feet or so. The doors were a darker shade of cream with magnetic card readers installed next to them. The conventional office appearance was most likely a token attempt to confuse, since it looked like a normal if slightly outdated office building. It did not help that the rooms were numbered confusingly. A letter indicating the floor (‘A’ for the 26th through to ‘Z’ for 1st) and a series of 3 to 5 numbers in various combinations (that differed on every damned floor!) on the neat little white plaques above each doorway only made things more perplexing.

     The team finally found the correct conference room (P-503) which was actually room 53 on the 11th floor. When their cards did not permit them entry, they had to either wait for Fury or call in to security to be given access to the room. By then, it was to no one’s surprise that Tony's patience had burned out completely.

     He pulled out the device that he considered a phone (No one else did!) and fiddled with it briefly, before holding it up to the scanner, which beeped thrice before the light flickered to green and the door unlocked itself. He walked in with a smirk, even as the rest of the team shook their heads in exasperated or long-suffering amusement as they followed him.

     Their presence in the room had Fury giving them a glare when he swept in shortly after they had chosen their seats. “I’m guessing I have Stark to thank for this?” He grumbled.

     “That’s prejudice!” The drawling reply was immediate, although Tony did not even twitch from his half-slumped position in his seat.

     “That’s confirmed.” The Director pointed out as he stalked to the head of the table. “I don’t see anyone else here who’s willing to use their hacking skills.”

     “Circumstantial evidence.” Tony retorted, waving one hand lazily. “Innocent until proven guilty and all that shtick.”

     “Stark. Do not push me.” Fury glowered, before he activated the screen behind him, bringing up a set of graphs that looked vaguely familiar to Clint. “I called you here because the WSC is throwing a fit about how much collateral damage you’ve been causing to the city.” He raised a hand to silence Steve who had clenched his jaw at the words and had opened his mouth to protest. “I didn’t say I agreed with them. Saving New York has a price and frankly, I’m glad it’s mostly cosmetic property damage. But bureaucrats are all about budgets.”

     “With all due respect Sir,” Steve looked annoyed and was clearly trying to curb his temper. “Human lives are the most important of all. That they’re prioritizing money over lives is…”

     “Which is why I’ll be telling them that they’re being damned stupid about this.” Fury continued, talking over the Captain’s protest. “But their perspective still stands. So we’ll just have to work around it.”

     “Why are you handling this personally?” Natasha spoke up with a delicate frown, sensing something was amiss. “This seems a little… below your pay grade, Director.”

     “I’m taking your asses through this because I’m on the only one _most_ of you will listen to. Hill has threatened to go AWOL if I put her in charge; Taylor will probably shoot Stark  _or_ Barton before the first day's out and everyone else is either scared out of their fucking minds or hell-bent on worshipping you in one way or other.” Fury growled. “So listen up.”

     Clint tuned out the rest of the briefing because it was mostly politics and budgeting. He set about watching his teammates instead. Steve and Nat were paying close attention or appearing to - it was hard to tell with Natasha. Bruce was fidgeting. He would look at the screen then to the notebook he had open before him and play with his pen a little. Tony… He doubted that Tony would stay quiet much longer. He was already playing with his phone, barely paying Fury any attention. The genius’ generous mouth was curved into a frown and he was already chewing on his lower lip in boredom.

     A little under five minutes later, “Can we get to the point of this, One-eye? This can’t possibly be the only reason you called us in.” Yep, that was their Tony.

     Fury shot the man a narrow-eyed look. “Fine. Why did Agent Barton leave his post yesterday?”

     Clint fought to keep himself from flinching as his name came up. He had expected this. They all had. His leaving the field had been painfully obvious.

     “There were extenuating circumstances, Sir.” Steve prevaricated with no hesitation at all. “We decided that the rest of the team could handle the situation with the doombots and that it was best that Iron Man and Hawkeye return to the tower to monitor any change in the situation.”

     Clint was hard-pressed not to stare at Cap. It was hard to shake the idea of the perfect soldier that the Captain America legend portrayed him as - an image that the comics and stories only reinforced - in spite of all the time they had spent together. However, he was starting to get the idea that Steve Rogers was very different from the one-dimensional Captain that was his public persona. Under the star-spangled costume was a determined, stubborn man who protected anyone he considered part of _his_ team above everything else. Hell, Steve had just given Fury a perfectly reasonable explanation for his leaving the field without the slightest hint that he was compromised.

     “Not the kind that requires an airlift by Iron Man.” Fury shot down the excuse immediately. “We also have this.” He manipulated something out of Clint’s line of sight and the screen flicked to a clip of him writhing on the rooftop from the doombot battle. “Now, unless I’m very much mistaken, Barton is an experienced agent who knows better than to play around during a mission and he’s obviously fine now. So I’m asking. Nicely." The Director glowered at him, single eye narrowed. "Barton, what the hell happened here?”

     Clint stood reflexively, knowing better than to offend the director further by reporting while seated. Naturally, that was the moment the curse kicked in again after almost 3 days of dormancy. He stiffened, already feeling the pressure. “Shit.” He hissed.

     He felt his team react, even as he heard Fury snap “What’s happening?” distantly. His attention was almost completely focused on the rumbling voice. “Choose! ‘Face Nicholas Fury and say ‘You’re a liar, asshole!’ Or ‘kneel before Nicholas Fury and say ‘I’m so sorry, sir!’”

     “Seriously?” He groaned, taking the merest instant to make up his mind on what he would do. He managed a wan yet cocky smile. If he was going to get shot, he would, at least, provide a good, solid reason for it, he decided with bitter satisfaction.

     He leapt up on the table even as everyone else moved into defensive positions. “You’re a liar, asshole!” He yelled, pointing at his boss, right down the barrel of Fury’s gun.

     “Stand down, Barton.” Fury bit out, gun aimed unwaveringly at one of his best agents even as Clint visibly relaxed the instant after his proclamation.

     Stark was eyeing him carefully, trying and failing to hide the fact that he wanted to smile. “Was that it?”

     He nodded carefully. “Yeah. I think so.” He jumped off the table, away from Fury, who was still tracking him with the gun. “Sorry, Sir.”

     “What the hell was that about?” The Director had stomped up to him, gun holstered, but no less menacing. “Explain yourself, Agent.”

     “Uhhh…” He winced as Fury glared at him, right in his personal space, eyes to well, eye-and-eye-patch. “I’ve been cursed, Sir.”

     The dark eye narrowed. “Are you trying to be funny, Agent? Because, I assure you, I do not. Find. It. Funny.”

     “He’s been cursed, Sir.” Unsurprisingly, it was Natasha who answered Fury’s question. “By Loki.”

     “And _why_ wasn’t I informed?” Fury’s voice was dry but he looked livid.

     “Because it hasn’t done anything but make him look stupid so far.” Tony interjected, most likely because he lacked a verbal filter. And sense of self-preservation. And intended to drag everyone else down with him.

     “What did you say?” Fury’s voice had gone dangerously quiet. The sort of tone that meant someone had to confess immediately, or all of them would be subjected to something very, very painful.

     “Loki happened.” Clint groaned inwardly as his best friend spoke up before he could and at Natasha’s choice of words. “He put a… curse on Barton. It’s making him respond to us in unusual ways.”

     “A curse?” Fury sounded more disapproving... and disbelieving than usual.

     “Well, Sir. I hear a voice that gives me choices. If I don’t choose one of them quickly,” Clint hurriedly explained with a shrug. “I get incapacitated. So far, it’s mostly irrelevant things like yelling stuff at people.”

     “And you didn’t report this?”

     “I thought I could handle it, Sir.” Clint answered as steadily as he could, forcing himself to look at Fury’s understandably-angrier-than-usual face. “The team was aware of my situation, Sir. They’ve all been keeping watch. Any one of them could take me down if I had to do something I wasn’t supposed to.”

     Fury inhaled, flared nostrils the only indicator of him trying to control his temper at the discovery of one of SHIELD’s best specialists having been compromised. Again. And his own lack of information about it. “Let me get this straight. First, Loki was here. And you failed to report his presence on our planet, despite what he did the last time he was here. Next, when that fucker cursed you, you and the rest of your team, kept quiet about it, even though you were already compromised.”

     “Yes, Sir.” Clint answered as neutrally as possible, hearing the director’s tone of voice get darker and darker.

     “And then,” Fury sounded like he was grinding out the words now. “You disregarded the safety of everyone, thinking you _knew better_ and failed to acknowledge the threat because it seemed harmless?!”

     “Put like that, it sounds much worse than it is.” Tony, who was almost directly behind him, whispered irrepressibly,

     Before Tony could get himself into another squabble with Fury, Steve shot him a disapproving look, which silenced him temporarily before he got onto Fury’s immediate shit list.

     “What I don’t understand, is why Romanov didn’t report it in.” Fury sneered, turning to look at Natasha.

     “The situation would have been reported the moment Barton exhibited symptoms of being truly compromised.” Came her unruffled answer. “As things stand, he’s been confined to the tower, with the exception of having to attend SHIELD meetings.”

     “And since when do you decide what should and should not be reported?”

     In response to Fury’s dangerous question, Steve stepped forward, intending to take the heat but Natasha blocked him. “Since I was appointed a senior agent and an infiltration specialist, I was given free rein to exercise my judgment as the situation called for it. Reporting Barton’s circumstances would only lead to further exclusion from SHIELD, through no fault of his own.” She countered, with the barest hint of apology in her manner.

     The Director mulled over her words. “Fine. Barton, I want you in Medical. If there is something to be picked up, I want it found. Then I want a thorough report from every single one of you present. And that includes you, Stark! Any bit of data you have, I want it. Dismissed.”

     Luckily, before Stark could say anything, thereby digging their collective graves because he had to have the last word, Bruce grabbed his arm and whispered something, distracting him for those vital seconds.

     Fury glared at the rest of the team, with venom that the team seldom saw directed at them. Clint could already predict that the team would be forced to do something unpleasant as a creative punishment for their actions. “Romanov, my office, 20 minutes.” He snapped before storming out of the room, each stomp of his boots managing to echo despite the carpeted floor, leather coat flaring as he stalked away.

     “What were your choices this time?” Tony inquired, after they all spent a moment staring at the doorway Fury had just gone through. He was tapping rapidly on his phone even as the rest of the team rallied around Clint, making sure he was physically all right. “Not that I didn’t appreciate what you did.”

     He shrugged and scraped up a grin. “I had to do what I did or kneel and spew apologies. I figured since I had an excuse this time, what the hell.”

     “In for a penny, in for a pound.” Steve bumped commiserating shoulders with him, not hiding his faint smile this time, even as Tony started cackling.

     “He would have shot you anyway.” Natasha offered, smiling.

     “Yeah, probably. Think Fury will let me stay at the tower? The barracks aren’t that good to sleep in.” He complained, trying to lift his own spirits, more than a little daunted at having to face the agents whom he might have killed if they had been on the helicarrier during the Battle.

     “I’ll make sure he’ll agree.” “He’d better.” Steve and Tony spoke in tandem, before looking at each other, the former smiling and the latter smirking in response.

     =for Scifigrl47=

     The room shared the same bland cream walls with the rest of building, the only differences being the padding – of the same shade- that covered one wall, against which the single bed in the room was up against. Unlike most other rooms in the SHIELD New York base, however, there was also an abundance of medical equipment in it and no windows. With good reason - there was nothing to see, with the room located deep in the sub-basements of the building.

     Fury stalked into the room, his signature coat billowing about him as he almost threw himself into the lone available chair next to the bed and its single occupant. “The moment this mess is done with, you’re heading over there to deal with the lot of them. Romanov’s not up to it, she’s been compromised by the lot of them. She _used_ to be a good agent.” He mourned.

     An eyebrow raised in amusement, the unspoken ‘Really?’ had Fury frowning.

     “I was planning to let them know about you, as promised. Then your little favorite got himself into this shitty problem and now we _all_ have to deal with it. I know you were watching,” He nodded at the tablet the patient was holding. “So this pushes back your news.” Fury griped as he made himself more comfortable. He glanced at his companion then huffed, resting his chin on his fist. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say they weren’t handling it.”

     The mild expression of skepticism Fury received in return had him rolling his eye. “Not well. But they are handling it.” He conceded. “They are, however, making more problems for me with every public crisis they put down.” He let out a breath. “And no one else in SHIELD can deal with them well. Rogers still thinks the world is black and white. He’s not up to dealing with all of what SHIELD does. Banner’s probably staying on because Stark’s protecting him. Otherwise, he’d leave the moment he’s sure he can find his way off the grid. Romanov can be counted on to do as ordered but lately she’s been lax about things with the Avengers Initiative. She’s only following orders when it suits her.” He groused at the only person who could understand his metaphorical pain."And the less said about Stark the better."

     “Then there’s your pet project. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a good agent even if he likes to do things his own way. However, that comes with its own… unique problems. Something you know best. Right now, Hill has too much on her plate to be a handler. She’s also too inflexible to deal with the team as a whole. The moment she treats them as agents, we’d lose any goodwill we have with them. Taylor's too high-handed to be a handler. Sitwell’s steady, but not quick enough to deal with Stark on a good day, let alone the whole team. Romanov alone will have him jumping when she snaps her fingers. Right now, I have Hand as their liaison and while she’s less by-the-book than Hill, she can’t keep up with handling the team and her division at the same time. And that means a pile of paperwork that should be your jurisdiction, filed wrongly.” Fury’s rant ran out of steam. He seldom had the chance to vent his frustrations with someone he knew would understand.

     'You can hardly blame me for getting injured, Sir.' The bland, typed reply only served to annoy Fury further.

     “Don’t try that with me. I saw the footage of what happened. You should have stood with your back to the wall when facing that bastard.” Fury sighed, leaning back in his chair. “And you would not believe the number of favors I had to call in to keep your sorry ass breathing.”

     'Considering that it was done without my consent, I’d say I don’t owe you a favor at all.' The retort held a hint of sharpness, despite the words being typed on a flat screen. 'In fact, I’d say you...owe me, Nick.' Coulson continued, gaining momentum with each word, with the implacable expression that spoke volumes of just how angry he was. 'I want my team back. The team you dragged me back from the dead for. I was Barton's handler for years; I can handle him...and the team.'

   “You can have them.” Fury’s sudden folding made the bed-bound man wary. His superior simply did not concede anything that easily. “After this is over.” And the smug tone sorely tempted Coulson to punch his boss in the face. He had walked right into that.

     'We don’t have any idea what Loki has done.' Coulson took a breath to steady his temper, forcing himself to work past it as he pointed out the facts with impeccable logic. It was one of the reasons why he was considered invaluable to Nicholas Fury. 'I know Barton better than anyone else on the team, other than Agent Romanov, there might be something that he has not shared with the rest of them.'

     “And what will Barton do if you get injured _on his behalf_ so soon?” The slight emphasis on the three words had Coulson wincing inwardly, something he was certain Fury noticed. “If you think I’m going to lose the best handler and specialist SHIELD’s got because you two are so gone for each other… think again.”

     Coulson stared at the Director, momentarily speechless, eyes wide in shock for the briefest of instances before he asserted control over his expression once more. 'Sir, you are mistaken.' But there was the barest tremor in the senior agent’s hands as he typed the words in and he knew that Fury, damn him, had noticed it.

     “Barton’s best results have always been when he’s working with you. It’d be a waste of resources to break SHIELD’s most valuable pair of assets up.” Fury pretended that Phil had not spoken. “And it’ll be a damned waste if we lost both of you because of your tendency to baby Barton. You’re compromised, Phil.”

     'I have been nothing but professional in my handling of Agent Barton.' Coulson refuted, knowing even as he said it, it was a weak reply. His boss had several examples of him prioritizing Clint’s safety over the mission, enough to prove otherwise. It was a testament to their partnership’s efficacy that they had not been separated long before it came to this point.

     “Is that so?” There was a glint in Fury’s eye as he leaned forward. “Then you’ll let this play out for as long as I want it to.”

     He inhaled, knowing he was unable to fight that decision for as long as he was constrained to bed. 'As you wish, Boss. For now.'

     =for Scifigrl47=

     Thor pondered on how to present the news of his findings to the other Avengers. He had found his brother– who was waiting openly for him in a deserted area of Midgard, having plainly expected him to show up - after some days of searching. The… conversation that had followed had led him to believe that Loki had some elaborate plan in place since there was less venom in the Trickster’s words than usual.

     One hint was that Loki had yet to lose the bespelled bracer that kept his whims in line. So he could not have circumvented the geas that Frigga had placed on him to do no harm to anyone who did not intend him harm. Thor had kept that in mind as he questioned his brother, striving to keep his words as civil as possible in his quest to discover what Loki had done to his shieldbrother. The conversation had lasted long enough before they had come to blows that Thor realized his brother was less cutting than usual. It was a barely subtle-enough clue for Thor – who was aware he was not the most observant of warriors – to notice.

     Then, with a self-satisfied smile as he pinned Thor to the ground during a moment of distraction, Loki had said cryptically, “Tell your Archer that I remember everything he told me. I believe I once told him he had heart. Well, Loki Silvertongue repays his debts.” The smile changed, turning darker, gloating. Loki’s eyes were bright with malevolent mischief. “His spirit will never be free unless he chooses to open his heart once more. Isn’t that the way of things in Midgard?” Then the Liesmith had disappeared, much to Thor’s frustration.

     What those words meant, Thor was not entirely sure. Loki's skill with words meant that there were a myriad of ways to interpret them. Nonetheless, he would give his friends the information. Perhaps the wise Banner or sharp-witted Stark could figure out the key to breaking the spell on Barton. Nodding his satisfaction with his course of action, Thor braced himself and spun his hammer, intent on returning to his fellow Avengers.

     =for Scifigrl47=

     “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Clint swore, pacing in the tower’s spacious living room, almost dancing to evade the Christmas decorations strewn about, once Thor had told the team about what Loki had said. “What the fuck does he think I am? His personal toy?!”

     “I will ensure that my father hears about this, Friend Barton. Loki will not go unpunished. I know not what he has done to you, but my brother will answer for the wrong he has done you.” Thor reassured him, looking abashed about the situation. “I apologize, on my brother’s behalf.”

     “You aren’t your brother, Thor.” Steve said, wiping his face with a towel, having come straight from the gym when he was informed of Thor's return.

     “Sit down.” Natasha grabbed Clint’s arm and tripped him up deftly, so that he fell onto the sofa, before sitting down next to him. “Calm down. Panicking never helps.”

     “You know, I never realized how much you sound like Malfoy when talking about your brother, Sparkplug.” Tony commented, sipping at his mug of coffee, frowning slightly, mind already at work trying to figure out the tidbit Thor had given them.

     “Who’s…” Steve wrinkled his nose slightly in confusion at the unfamiliar name. “Malfoy?”

     “Right. Not up to Harry Potter yet. Add that to the list Capsicle here has to watch, JARVIS.”

     “As you wish, Sir.”

     “Tony, is this really the time for that?” The other scientist in the room inquired, taking off his glasses. “And Malfoy, really?”

     “’My father will hear about this, Potter!’” Tony quoted gleefully, putting on a passable British accent.

     “Moving on.” Natasha cut in, knowing that the conversation would digress further if she let it. “What do you make of this, Bruce?”

     “It’s a riddle.” The tousled-haired scientist answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “A fairly uncomplicated one at that, that is, if Loki’s words are metaphorically meant.”

     Everyone looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate, and he sighed. “‘Open his heart once more’ probably means that Clint has to learn to trust someone again. It’s a standard turn of phrase in mythological morals or curses around the world.”

     “Literally?” Sharp blue eyes moved from Bruce to Clint as Steve considered the words. “Can it be that simple?”

     “Sounds like a Disney movie.” Tony commented, frowning into his coffee. “Maybe Katniss’ Maleficent got the idea from one of them?”

     “This Disney of Midgard is a truly wonderful Bard!” Thor added his two cents worth at the moment. “The Lady Darcy has shown me some of his tales. Marvelous!”

     “Who knows how Loki’s mind works?” Bruce continued, unruffled. “But the solution seems a little too straightforward, for Loki.”

     “I just have to trust someone?” Clint frowned, paying careful attention to the discussion going on as perched on the back of the sofa, unable to sit still. The conditions sounded easy enough but hard to do in reality, especially when his occupation as a sniper and spy were taken into consideration. “That’s it?”

     “I don’t think it’s that easy. Whoever you choose to trust probably has to return it as well, assuming we’re going by mythological logic.” The scientist answered. “With it being magic, we can’t run tests to check. The problem is with the phrasing. It can mean one of two things. The first of which would be for Clint to trust someone completely. The second… is a little more fairy tale.”

     “Fairy tale?” Russet eyebrows arched a little in query.

     Bruce knew he looked silly with the serious expression on his face as he answered Romanov’s question with the trite quote. “‘True love’.”

     Natasha’s eyebrows rose higher. “Love is for children.” She pointed out. “And there’s no such thing as ‘true love’.”

     “Isn’t that a little… cynical?” Steve frowned. “Love does exist.”

     “Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying I have to have this… curse broken by ‘true love’s kiss’? Are you fucking kidding me?” Clint interrupted. “What about Thor just finds Loki again and we blow his head off?”

     “Nay, Archer. I know Loki has wronged you but he is still my brother and I will not allow him to come to grievous harm.” Thor’s protest was emphasized with a wave of Mjolnir. “And he meant this trick of his to be a ‘repayment of his debt’ to you.”

     “He’s just venting, Thor. Ignore him.” Natasha broke the impending argument easily.

     “I’ll report the change in the situation to Director Fury. With luck, someone will figure out how to help.” Steve sighed. “Lord knows what he’ll make of this.” He muttered as he walked out of the room to lessen the background noise Fury might hear as he made the call.

     “I don’t think it calls for kissing, actually.” Bruce corrected. “The idea is mostly symbolic. Trusting someone with your life would also count.”

     “I hate magic.” Clint muttered, face scrunched up in distaste as he tried to figure out who he trusted with his life. “I don’t think that counts since I trust all of you to keep me alive and I’m still cursed with the damned thing.”

     Tony patted his shoulder, having wandered over during the course of their discussion. “Welcome to the club, Quincy.”

     “What the fuck? Bleach, now? Really?” Clint stared at Tony, who was munching on something from a packet, probably his beloved blueberries. “Where do you get the time to keep up with that series?”

     “It’s called multitasking.”

     “I wasn’t aware that anime was something you paid attention to.” Natasha actually sounded curious.

     Tony shrugged and offered Clint the packet of, yep, blueberries. “I had to. New York Comic Con practically begged Pepper to let me attend a couple of years back when the Iron Man merchandising became popular. I had a dispute with a cosplayer on which was more realistic, Gundam or the armor.”

     Steve, of course, chose that moment to return to the room. He paused at the threshold for a moment with raised eyebrows at what he overheard. “Fury said he’ll send someone over. Hopefully whoever it is will be able to sort this out.” He notified the others, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor and that it was safer to ignore whatever it was Tony was talking about.

     “I don’t think that’s very likely. SHIELD doesn’t have…” Clint groaned and then jerked as the dreaded sensation returned, after five days from the previous ‘choice’. “Shit!”

     “Choose! Kiss Steve Rogers. Or kiss Thor Odinson.”

     Clint's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Of all the fucking STUPID choices!"

     “Choose!” The voice boomed again, then, most likely because he had hesitated, the shrilling began in his ears once more. He clapped his hands over his ears reflexively.

     “Shit, shit, shit!” He cursed, jumping off his precarious seat, only vaguely aware that everyone else had gotten up in reaction to what he was doing. He had to do something. Thor. Thor was right in front of him, mouth moving. He was saying something but Clint could not hear it over the piercing shriek in his ears.

     The noise intensified and his bones began to ache. Thor would not mind, would he? He could feel his bones rattle because of the now-bass rumble. Figuring he would be forgiven, he lifted his head and pressed a brief kiss to Thor’s bearded chin because the asshole was so freaking tall. It felt horribly rough but the noise receded immediately.

     “Oh, thank God.” He breathed, almost slumping in relief at the blissful silence. Which was shattered in the next moment.

     “I have heard of this Midgardian tradition!” Thor boomed and lifted Clint up with one arm and planted an enthusiastic smack right on Clint’s slack mouth. “I am most pleased that you are feeling better, Shieldbrother!”

     “T-Tho-Mmmpphhh!” Clint’s shocked protest was quickly muted by the demigod’s very… enthusiastic kiss. After the instant of shock, he did his best to push Thor away, which was harder than he thought it would be, since the Asgardian was much stronger than he was.

     It was only when Thor broke the kiss that he manage to extricate himself. “Thor! That was for the curse! You didn’t have to kiss me back!” He sputtered.

     Only Thor was not listening. Rather, he was looking at the ceiling, brown wrinkled in confusion. “I see not the toe of mistle that Lady Darcy told me of.”

     Nat was laughing at him. He knew it. It was not out loud, but she was definitely laughing at him. He could see it in the way her eyes were dancing. It was better than what Tony was doing. Tony was laughing so hard he was incoherent, great, gulping gasps interspersed with breathless gargling sounds.

     Meanwhile, Bruce and Steve were just staring at them, eyes wide, the former was blushing a little but the latter was red as he struggled to explain when the mistletoe was usually put up to Thor with a lot of stammering as he worked through his embarrassment.

     “Was that another choice?” Bruce asked him quietly, clearly torn between amusement and mortification on Clint’s behalf.

     Clint nodded, trying to find some way to maintain his dignity as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think it’s safe to say that kissing isn’t part of the cure. I had to kiss Steve or Thor.”

     “What?” Steve yelped in dismay, blushing, eyes flicking to Tony then back to Clint.

     “Thor just happened to be closer.” Clint added, a tiny part of him taking perverse pleasure in Steve’s discomfort. “Thanks, big guy.”

     “I am glad to have been of help.” Thor said cheerfully.

     “Should we inform Fury of the latest… incident?” Natasha purred, her eyes glinting with mischief.

     “No!” Clint and Steve exclaimed at once.

     “There’s been no actual change in Agent Barton’s status.” Steve was clearly forcing himself to use official wording. “We’ll inform Fury’s representative when he or she comes over tomorrow. That’s soon enough; with the lack of… err… ” He blushed at the reminder of how he was peripherally involved in the latest manifestation of the curse.

     “Harm.” Bruce finished, and got a grateful look from their Captain in response.

    

     =for Scifigrl47=

     “Anybody knows when Fury’s rep is coming over?” Clint grumbled as he downed his glass of juice. He was the last of the team to show up in the kitchen the next morning, having trudged in a full hour later than usual after spending the night fretting about Thor’s information.

     “The agent’s arrival is estimated to be within the quarter hour, Agent Barton.” JARVIS answered.

     Steve looked up from the stove briefly, not quite daring to let his attention off the sizzling pancake batter. “I’m not sure if there is anything he’ll be able to do, though.” He flipped the pancake expertly, frowning down at the pan. “People who know how to deal with Loki’s abilities aren’t precisely thick on the ground.”

     “Loki is a skilled sorcerer, second to only All-Mother Frigga in Asgard.” Thor rumbled around his mouthful of pop tarts. “My brother is not called the Trickster or Silvertongue without cause. He riddles with ease. Fury of SHIELD must have a wise man to be able to foretell what Loki has done to our shield brother.”

     “Or he just wants another spy in our midst, since Legolas and Mara Jade aren’t sending back enough information.” Tony pointed out dryly as he sipped from his vegetable smoothie – a habit of his that had startled everyone when they had first discovered his liking for them. “Ooh! Bacon! Thanks Panda-bear!”

     The physicist sighed at the latest choice of nicknames and set the platter of crisp bacon just out of Tony’s reach. “Wait your turn. Fury could have sent someone who has some idea of what Loki has done.” He shook his head when his friend snorted derisively and relented his objective stance. “All right, probably not.”

     Natasha wrinkled her nose delicately. “It isn’t likely.” She agreed with Bruce, familiar enough with most of SHIELD’s roster of consultants to have a clear idea on who Fury might be sending. “And Tony, most people only watch the movies. Not everyone reads _Star Wars,_ although I am flattered by the comparison.”

     “Says the one who got the reference.” Tony grumbled even as a plate stacked with pancakes was placed before him. “Awesome. Thanks, Steve.”

     Judging from the way how Natasha and Bruce eyed Tony’s plate before looking at their own, Clint knew he was not the only one to realize that the billionaire had been served his favorite blueberry pancakes while everyone else had to do with chocolate chip. The tiny smirk on Nat’s face told him that she would probably be teasing Steve about it. He swallowed his own remarks and reached for the maple syrup.

    “Sir.” JARVIS sounded oddly cautious. “Director Fury’s delegate has arrived and is on the way up.”

     “Who is it, J?” Tony swallowed his mouthful with a grimace. “Please tell me it isn’t Hill.”

     “It is not Sub-Director Hill, Sir.” The deadpan answer lifted Clint’s spirits, making him grin. Leave it to Stark to create an A.I. with a sardonic sense of humor.

     “Are you sassing me, JARVIS?” Tony waved a hand at the ceiling, plainly unconcerned. “So which of Fury’s lackeys is it?”

     The elevator opened before JARVIS replied, something the A.I. had to have done deliberately. “I wouldn’t call myself a lackey. Minion, perhaps.”

     Clint had jumped up at the sound of that voice and was perched on the countertop, grabbing one of the knives on the table, ready to throw it the instant he recognized the profile of the person walking towards them. “Stay where you are!” He snarled, furious that someone dared to impersonate the man who meant the world to him.

     He was peripherally aware that Natasha had flanked him, gun in hand. Stark was shouting something at JARVIS whilst there was minor scuffle behind him, most likely because Steve was backing up, keeping the team’s most vulnerable – Stark – in a protected position. Meanwhile, there was the fleeting, tell-tale hum of Thor calling his hammer to hand, everyone scrambling to respond to the possible threat.

     “A _ptrgangr!_ ” Thor bellowed, Mjolnir already spinning. “Foul creature! To take on the seeming of our fallen shield brother! What dread sorcery is this?!”

     Senior agent Phil Coulson raised his eyebrows a scant portion of an inch, appearing unperturbed by everyone’s reaction to his presence. “Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.” He deadpanned. However, he did remain exactly where he was, two steps from the elevator doors.

     “Sir. It appears that it is indeed Agent Coulson. Scans of his biometrics and voice match what I have on file.” JARVIS sounded put out at the discovery, something Clint would have found hilarious under different circumstances.

     Tony snarled from somewhere behind him. “I don’t put it past Fury to send an LMD.”

     “If you’re indeed Coulson…” Natasha hissed, her hands steady, unlike his own, which had trembling slightly at the start of the confrontation. “Name the worst mission we agreed we have ever been on.”

     There was a slightest twitch in that carefully neutral expression. “I thought we agreed not to bring it up again.”

     “Say it.” Clint growled, tightening his hold on his makeshift weapon the tiniest bit. He squashed the roiling emotions to the back of his mind, feeling his unease sink like a lead ball in his gut.

     The agent wearing Coulson’s face closed his eyes with the faintest hint of a wince. The action was so familiar that Clint felt his heart skip a beat. “Officially, that would be Budapest. Unofficially, it would be the time when we had to retrieve an item of interest in Indonesia. Barton impersonated a dealer and was off the grid for two weeks.” The agent’s expression was tight, as if unhappy at the recounting of the event, the wrinkles around his eyes appearing in sharp relief. “If Romanov had not intervened, Barton would have been up to his hips in a pit of poisonous snakes.”

     “That was in our official reports.” He gritted out, hating how well the impersonator was doing.

     “By the time Romanov got to you, there were at least two vipers in your clothes and a spitting cobra around your neck.” Coulson sounded pained as he continued. “By the time we got you out, you had multiple snakebites on your thighs, were delirious from whatever drugs they had used on you and was making poor jokes about having ‘a monster in your pants’.”

     He sputtered, reacting instinctively to the familiar jibe. “I do not make poor jokes!”

     Natasha lowered her gun. “It _is_ Coulson. Your horrible sense of humor never makes it into official reports.” She stated even as she walked forward. Her lips quirked slightly, right before she slapped the senior agent. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

     “I… deserved that, I think.” Coulson said carefully. He had not even blocked the blow.

     “You think?!” Furious now, Clint tossed the knife in a direction where it probably would not hit anyone then leapt off the counter, striding towards Coulson. “You… **_Bastard_**! You didn’t think we’d want to know that you’re still alive?” He punched Phil’s face, with less force that usual, unable to truly hurt him despite his anger. He collapsed to his knees. “You… you…”

     “Clint…” There was a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see their Captain, still well-dusted with flour, wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron, but no less imposing than if he had been in full patriotic regalia. “I think you owe us an explanation… and an apology, Agent Coulson.”

     Coulson nodded, the faintest trace of discomfort on his expression at being reprimanded by the man he revered as his role model. And looking far less steady than usual. “I will debrief the team of the circumstances as requested, Captain Rogers.”

     “Then perhaps we should all… move this somewhere more suitable.” The tones behind the mild words indicated that it was an order, rather than a suggestion.

     “Can you stand?” Clint heard the words but took a moment to realize that Steve was asking him that.

     “Yeah.” He choked out, forcing himself to his feet.

     It took mere moments for the team to be gathered around the dining table, all wearing varying expressions of anger at the deception as they glared at Coulson in unison.

     “Here to lie to us again?” Tony tilted his head, jaw clenched, brown eyes blazing. “Oh, wait. That was Fury. You just went along with it.”

     “I think we all want an explanation.” Bruce added firmly, sounding angry but there was no hint of Hulk-green in his brown eyes.

     “Aye.” Thor rumbled in agreement.

     There was no need for Natasha to say anything. A cool look spoke volumes about how she felt about the matter. And the venom in her expression was probably on Clint’s behalf, since the archer looked far too shaken to even look directly at him.

     Only those who knew Coulson well could see his unease as he started. “I’d best start at the beginning then.” He paused. “When Loki stabbed me on the helicarrier, the spear perforated the left ventricle of my heart.”

     Before anyone could even respond to that, he continued. “The injury should have been fatal; if Director Fury had not gotten to me less than two minutes later. Medical would have declared me dead anyway, but Fury insisted that they keep trying.” Coulson’s expression grew bland as he recounted the ordeal with barely any change in inflection. “I was clinically dead for nearly fifteen minutes before they revived me the first time.”

     “First time?” Bruce spoke up, looking a little pale. The nuclear physicist-turned-field-medic was the only one who knew the ramifications of reviving someone after more than ten minutes had passed.

     “According to the reports, I coded a handful of times more on the operating table. Even now, Director Fury still refuses to disclose exactly what procedures were used to bring me back.” Coulson managed a wry smile. “I’m fairly certain that some of those methods are exceedingly illegal and certainly would not pass any ethics clearance board. Whatever the methods used, the treatment worked and I survived.”

     “And you conveniently kept everything a secret until now.” Tony bit out.

     “I regained consciousness approximately two weeks ago, but was only taken off a ventilator a little over four days ago.” Coulson said quietly. “You can check my medical records if you disbelieve me. They are, unfortunately, on paper only as Director Fury decided to prevent any chance of… premature viewing of that information.”

     “You don’t leave your team in the dark.” Clint felt something in him break at those words. “Those were your rules. Not… over something this important.”

     “The choice was taken out of my hands, Specialist.” He got in calm answer. “The intention of the recent meeting between the team and the Director was to disclose my status. However, Fury decided with the latest development, it was better for me to remain ‘dead’ until the situation had been resolved. I persuaded him otherwise once Thor’s information was made available.”

     Natasha looked openly skeptical. “You must have offered something substantial to get him to change his mind.”

     “Handling the paperwork the Avengers generate was sufficient.” Coulson answered, eyes crinkling up in a faint, amused smile. “There are only so many agents with clearance over level 8 who are capable of multitasking. And Agent Hand wants to return to her division.”

     “Begged, more likely.” Clint muttered, knowing that his handler had to be understating things. Victoria Hand had a personal dislike of him and the feeling was mutual. That extended to most of the team, who were mostly, far from happy with Coulson’s protocol-adherent replacement.

     “There was a… discussion with regards to Agent Hand’s appointment.” Coulson nodded in his direction as he answered as blandly as possible but Clint saw the tiny glint of mirth in his handler’s eyes. “After certain concessions were made, Agent Hand secured the Director’s agreement to return to the field.”

     “She must have offered something big.” There was a predatory expression in Natasha’s eyes that only those familiar with the way she worked would recognize. There was little doubt in Clint’s mind that Natasha intended to find out whatever Hand had promised to get Fury to agree to the transfer.

     “She did.” Coulson smiled, but did not elaborate.

     Clint closed his eyes. “Why come back now? You’re no expert on how fucked up Loki’s head is, or an expert in magic.”

     “Asgardian science.” Bruce and Tony both corrected at once, sharing a similar expression of distaste, although the latter’s tone was more vehement.

     “Because this is my team.” Coulson’s reply startled him into looking back at his handler, meeting sincere brown eyes. “No matter what happens, as long as I’m alive, this is my team to watch over, support and clean up after. I have been… remiss in supporting you after your first official assignment but the Avengers are always my first priority.”

     Clnt opened his mouth to answer when that hated voice slammed into his head once more. “Choose!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me apologise for taking ages to update this fic. RL slowed my writing. Then the whammy of Age of Ultron threw me off completely. UST between Steve and Tony was great, but Clint being married to someone NOT Coulson... ... ... I'm just going to ignore that. THIS IS FANFICTION FOR A REASON FOLKS!  
> Also, I threw in a Star Wars reference in homage to the latest movie. Hope no one minds.

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter will take some time. I'm kinda stuck at the moment. Maybe a month? Probably. Hopefully. Maybe? XD


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